


Back in the Day

by Morgana



Series: All Hallows' Pleasures [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel used to love Halloween</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arcadii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadii/gifts).



There was paperwork waiting for him when he came into the office. Of course. There was always paperwork, either stacks of it on his desk or bright white sheets peeking out of the thousands of manila folders Harmony brought in each day. Sometimes Angel thought he'd never really made it out of Hell after all, that whoever controlled it had just changed the surroundings to bring about even more neverending torment. Or turned him into one of Hell's desk jockeys, which was even worse.  
  
He sighed and sat down, reaching for the top folder. More papers to sign, expenditures to approve or souls to collect... he really wasn't sure what it was he was signing half the time. And it wasn't like it mattered anymore, anyway. Not when there was always more paperwork, one neatly typed sheet following another stretching out into infinity. All the same, exactly the same, no ragged edges or ink blots allowed. Conformity ruled at Wolfram & Hart, from the paperwork to the cubicles to the office staff. He wondered idly what he'd have to sign away to get the flood of papers to stop, then decided not to think about - the Senior Partners might decide to tempt him with it and he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to refuse whatever kind of deal they might offer. Besides, if the paperwork went away, then who would approve the... Halloween party?!?  
  
"Harmony!" he bellowed without looking up.  
  
Immediately, the click of spike heels on marble echoed in his ears. "You know, it really wouldn't kill you to try to use the intercom now and then," his secretary complained.  
  
He ignored her in favor of holding the folder up. "What's this about a Halloween party?"  
  
Harmony smiled brightly. "Isn't it great! The firm has one every year, and it's all anybody talks about for months afterward!"  
  
Angel sighed and reminded himself that throttling his secretary wasn't a good idea. "But we take Halloween off. We always have."  
  
"Yeah, and what's a better way to celebrate a night off than with a major party?" She didn't wait for his answer, just turned around and sauntered off, leaving him staring down at his desk.  
  
"Reckon you never thought you'd be hostin' the big Halloween bash of the year," his personal irritant drawled from the couch.  
  
Angel didn't bother to look over at him. "Shut up, Spike."  
  
"When'd you come over all Grinchy about Halloween, anyway?" the blond continued, ignoring him just like he always did. "Used to be one of your favorite holidays. Back in the day -"  
  
"Well, we're not 'back in the day' anymore, are we?" Angel snapped, slamming the folder with the paperwork in it closed. "I'm  _busy_ , Spike. I don't have time for stupid reminiscing, I don't have time for Halloween, and I _don't_  have time for  _you_!"  
  
He waited for the blistering retort, followed by one of Spike's rare energy blasts that was sure to send something hurtling at his head, but instead, there was just... silence. A heavy, stifling silence, and when he looked over at the couch, it was empty. There was no sign of the blond pest that had spent the entire morning lounging there, no indication that there had ever been anyone there at all. For a second, Angel wondered if he'd ever been there, of if he'd just hallucinated him. Part of the Wolfram  & Hart benefits package, maybe?  
  
No. That was impossible. He wasn't going crazy; Wesley and Fred had both seen Spike. Everyone on his team had. They'd pillaged the Senior Partners for dark energy to try to bring him back, for Chrissake. Surely they wouldn't have done that for a stupid hallucination! No, Spike was just off sulking somewhere, probably upset that Angel didn't want to play 'remember when' over Halloween, of all things.  
  
He wasn't even sure why it mattered. Spike had  _never_  liked Halloween. He'd hated being cooped up in the house, hated having to make do with leftovers instead of getting to hunt, hated just about everything about it. No, it had been Angelus who'd loved the holiday. It had appealed to the maudlin Irishman within him, that side of himself that remembered Auld Nan's stories about ghosties and boogedymen. He'd loved spending the night in, loved the comfort of his bed and the warmth of the fire nearby that was guaranteed to keep the haunts away.  
  
Angel stared down at the folder, but he wasn't really seeing it. No, he was remembering something else entirely. Firelight dancing on pale skin, the gold and red shadows lending life to dead limbs, casting them into stark relief against the lush blue velvet Marseilles quilt that used to cover his bed.  
  
His bed. God, how he missed it! It had been a massive, sprawling Victorian monstrosity of a bed, carved with designs he'd drawn himself, with a mattress so soft that sinking into it at the end of the night had been a delight. He used to wonder what happened to it until he saw it at the factory and realized that his children must have gone back for it at some point. Fucking first Drusilla and then Spike in that bed had been one of the things he'd truly looked forward to when he'd lost his soul, but then the Watcher had to go and burn the whole thing down. That bed had survived a hundred years, seen more bloodshed and mayhem and come that one piece of furniture ever should, only to have an enraged Englishman reduce it to ashes.  
  
Angel still held that against Giles, even if he'd never tell him so.  
  
Not that it mattered all that much, now. The bed was gone, along with those he'd shared it with. Darla had died to give their son life, Drusilla was somewhere in the jungles of South America, and Spike... Spike hated him. He took vicious pleasure in reminding Angel of that at every opportunity, his smiles and memories taunting him with what he'd lost all those years ago. And what he'd willingly thrown away when he was last free, his conscience reminded him.  
  
That was probably the hardest thing to bear. He'd seen the hope and eager light in Spike's eyes when he'd strolled into the factory and he'd gone to great lengths to show him that he wasn't the sire he remembered. The soul had driven him mad, and he'd used that as his excuse, but deep down he knew it was more than that. It was his anger, his rage at seeing Spike and Drusilla still together and knowing that he could have had it but for the soul. He'd envied their bond, the years they'd had with each other  _(without him)_  and he'd taken that out on Spike, vented his fury on him every chance he got.  
  
But he hadn't broken him. Spike had taken everything he'd thrown at him, borne up under every last jibe and then proven himself to be the better  _(man)_  vampire when he'd stood up with Buffy to stop his sire's folly. Angel didn't think he'd ever been prouder of him than in that moment, when his boy had put an end to his plans for world destruction. Plans born of his anger and pain and pride, plans to make the world pay for that which he had had torn from him.  
  
Spike didn't seem to share his sense of loss, or at least didn't appear to find reminders of what they'd once had, what they'd once been, painful. He talked about it openly, to anyone he felt like mentioning it to, whether he was discussing a painting he'd seen at the National Gallery when Angelus had dragged him there or a heart he'd ripped out to share with Drusilla, it was all the same to him. Angel thought he hated him a little for that, for how easily he could look back on the life they'd had without regret or rage at its loss. But then, Spike's soul was a reward, not a punishment like his own. He'd sought it out, fought for it and won it, while all Angel had ever done was eat a gypsy girl.  
  
One girl, and she'd cost him everything. His home, his sire, his children... his boy. He hadn't been there to see Spike come into his own, hadn't watched him kill his first Slayer or tasted her blood on his lips, hadn't had more than a handful of years with him, actually. 18 years - a fraction of a human's lifespan, less than that in his own long life, but they'd some of the happiest years of his existence.  
  
It wasn't really Spike's fault that they'd had such a short time together, not really. Just like it wasn't his fault that Angel was stuck here doing paperwork, signing off on expenditures instead of being out on the street helping people. And it wasn't his fault that Buffy had chosen him to wear the amulet while she sent Angel back to LA to head up Wolfram & Hart.  
  
So why was he taking it out on him?  
  
Angel looked back down at the form. A Halloween party. It seemed like such a small, simple thing, but apparently it was a big thing for the firm, if Harmony's reaction was anything to go by. And evil beings could definitely love Halloween; Angel knew that for a fact. For him, it always meant a long night with Spike in his bed, since pleasure had been the best way to distract his boy and keep him from climbing the walls while he was shut up inside. He'd thought that Spike had begun to love it, too, but he'd never bothered to ask.  
  
Now he wondered how he could've been so blind. He should've talked to him about it, should've appreciated the incredible gift that he had instead of just assuming it would always be there. He'd tried to push back the memories, bury them to avoid the pain they always brought, but now Angel was wondering if he shouldn't have enjoyed them the way Spike seemed to, if maybe by doing that he could learn to take pleasure in them instead of pain.  
  
Was it too late to learn? Or maybe, just maybe, too late to be taught?  
  
Before he could talk himself out of it, Angel grabbed the pen and signed the form, then closed the folder and yelled, "Harmony!"  
  
"Yes, boss?"  
  
"Take this over to Lorne," he told her, handing over the folder. "And tell him I won't be at the party. I've got something else I have to do that night."  
  
She nodded. "Sure thing, boss. But you don't have anything on the calendar."  
  
"It's personal." He could see the questions already forming, so he added, "I'll handle the details. Just... take care of the form, okay?"  
  
"Okay." Thankfully, she headed out without asking any more questions. She must want to leave early, to be acting like that. Angel already knew he'd say yes when she asked.  
  
He tapped his pen on the desk, then pushed his chair back. He had details to arrange, a room to make over, and a childe to apologize to, then seduce. And if he was going to get it all set up in time for Halloween, he needed to get started - right away.


End file.
